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Widely regarded as the greatest introduction in film history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

The FBI trainee, new to the job, must walk a row of prison cells arriving at Hannibal Lecter's reinforced glass enclosure. The man is present, with features like a living skull exuding demonic evil, chillingly static in his form-fitting blue inmate uniform. He doesn't move right up until he propels himself toward the window, emitting that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. A multitude of real-crime films have since demonstrated that genuine criminals are often very boring, with nothing resembling Hopkins' commanding screen presence.

He was not unrecognized at the time he got his Academy Award-winning part in the iconic film back in 1989: a star wasn't born, but rather a megastar was forged. His portrayal of Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Stalin based on his daughter's accounts, as well as his icily exacting drama teacher his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a father-daughter dimension within the narrative; a sore point for Anthony, who also describes how his Lear was subconsciously influenced by painful regret regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage during the 60s to Petronella Barker, who disliked his time away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child with his father at the seaside – the boy who perhaps believed he would never do OK. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the scene-stealing supporting player here: a bread-maker and man's man, a plain speaker who despised the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and refused to expressing his feelings, yet possessed a touch of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going cap-in-hand to their wealthy relations like Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and was able to secure young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves during the car ride. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Bloody rubbish, that's what it is!”

The grovelling paid off, for a while. Anthony struggled academically at his new school. Then, during in an English lesson he needed to deliver the verse by John Masefield titled The West Wind – without prior preparation – and his voice awakened; he stunned the teacher and the other students. He says quite plausibly that poems, alone, propelled him forward. This, along with enrolling in the YMCA drama club. Notably, he graduated with low prospects, pursued acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was on stage with Laurence Olivier at the renowned Old Vic in just ten years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to go to Rada – a path to success for working-class actors. His dad remained in awe with Anthony's worldwide acclaim: upon requesting his son to deliver the Yorick lines from the play Hamlet, Hopkins Sr listened attentively and then retreated to another room and began crying.

Regarding the fiery, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a moment of anger – causing Olivier's regret and criticism – but fortunately found an excellent television part as a suspected war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which eventually resulted to roles such as in the film The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred to the stage. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s once a notorious drinker, and thus made it into his later years to execute great performances, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in The Remains of the Day with Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his second Academy Award.

During the second part of the book his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. A few tales aren't entirely successful. He mentions going out for lunch alongside his cast mate in Stone's Nixon, the highly regarded performer Sorvino, who intended to inform him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the chance for him to absorb a lesson from the famous actor of the Goodfellas fame? Not really. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's rejection of Sorvino as driven out of envy. Truly?

He often portrays the grounded, serious thespian who believes you must to get there on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Quite so. But he also recounts standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And acquire some decency. If you ever repeat that near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as an individual who stopped drinking but maybe not the belligerence that came with it. A classical performer like Hopkins is aware of the lines about Kent from Cornwall from Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

Anthony ends his memoir with a lengthy appendix composed simply